


kneel

by astarisms



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Smut, and shes like oh i could have fun with this, at the temple, dara’s the sub of course, in city of brass, its what she deserves, its what we all deserve, listen, mild sub/dom themes, this is entirely based off of that one scene, this is entirely self indulgent, well i let her have some fuckin fun with it, when dara bows to her and cant rise until she tells him, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 12:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19229587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astarisms/pseuds/astarisms
Summary: nahri quite likes the view of him on his hands and knees at her feet.





	kneel

“Kneel, Afshin.”

He has just barely stopped before her when she says the words. His eyes bright, he flashes her that dazzling smile.

“Banu Nahida.” The low reverence with which he says her title before he drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the ground is reminiscent of the first time they were here. The only difference is that this time, she expects the ritual.

This time, she gets a thrill out of watching him bow to her so readily. Through her veil, she admires the position and wishes she could savor the view of this arrogant, infuriating, beautiful man prostrating himself before her.

But she knows there are eyes on her and she’s waited too long already.

“You may rise,” she says, lifting her chin, and he climbs to his feet. There’s humor in his face and she struggles to keep the blush from hers, even if no one can see it.

She fails when he falls into step behind her, murmuring only loud enough for her ears, “you’re getting better at that.”

x

Nahri sighs in relief as she takes off the heavy diadem and pulls her chador off, draping the fabric across the foot of her bed and dropping the bejeweled gold on top of it. She rubs at her temples, pushing her hair away from her face.

The visits to the Grand Temple are always nerve-wracking. She’s still not sure what they expect of her, but it’s become easier.

In fact, she considers today’s visit a success. It had gone well, and she hadn’t managed to put her foot in her mouth this time around. In fact, the only hitch had been…

Had been how long it’d taken her to summon Dara to his feet again. Her cheeks warm at the memory, of how his eyes had danced as if he’d known what she was thinking. She purposefully hadn’t looked around at the time, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of the daeva present had also been aware of how much it pleased her to have her Afshin on his knees at her feet.

A knock at her door pulls her out of her thoughts. She tries to cool some of the heat on her face as she crosses the room, but it’s a wasted effort when the very object of it is the one standing on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” she asks Dara, a little more accusatively than she intends in her surprise. She wonders briefly if he has a sixth sense, since he’s always showing up unannounced when she’s thinking of him.

He raises one fine eyebrow at her, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if he  _ knows _ . Her heart stutters in her chest, stumbling over its own rhythm. That  _ damned _ smile.

“If I’m not welcome, I can leave.” He glances over his shoulder, then looks back at her, “though I must admit I would lament the wasted effort to get here if you should turn me away.”

She sighs and backs away from the door, sweeping her arm out to invite him inside.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” He’s still wearing his own ceremonial attire, and she’s curious as to what is so important that he’s barging in before either of them have had the chance to get comfortable again. “Gentlemen don’t go sneaking into women’s rooms, you know.”

“You think me a gentleman?” Dara asks in surprise, and he can’t hide that laughing smile anymore, try as he might. It’s utterly infuriating, the way his eyes dance, and she can’t think of anything more endearing.

“No,” she concedes, “I think you’re a brute.”

He does laugh now, and the sound of it makes her warm all over. She folds her arms over her chest and waits. He’s good at derailing her thoughts but she is still expecting an explanation and she’s not letting his sudden appearance in her rooms in the middle of the day go unanswered.

Meandering further into the room, he glances around, his eyes resting on the chador before coming back to her.

“I just meant to check on you,” he says, with perfect innocence.

“Check on me? What for?”

He meets her eyes again, the corners of his own crinkling. “You seemed a little flustered earlier.”

Without warning or consent, she feels heat flood her cheeks, and her lips part in surprise.

“Ah, yes, a little like that, though I couldn’t be certain before with your chador.” He gestures vaguely to the veil, watching her with unadulterated amusement.

_ Stupid, arrogant, infuriating bastard _ .

It’s embarrassing, how easily he slips past her defenses and she drops her mask around him, but she prides herself on how quickly she gathers what’s left of her dignity and composes herself.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“I know the display of respect isn’t something you’re used to,”  _ He’s teasing, he’s teasing, he’s teasing—  _ “but if it affects you so, I’m sure we could alter the ritual.”

“No!”

The word is out of her mouth before he’s even entirely finished speaking, and he draws back. The corners of his mouth curl again, slowly, the very picture of the cat who got the cream. She realizes her mistake in the same heartbeat, but it’s too late to take it back now, and she’ll be damned if she lets Dara win this little game.

“I quite like the ritual, in fact,” she admits, because it’s the only thing left to do, and she can tell by the subtle shift in his expression that he hadn’t expected that.

“Oh?”

Her heart beats so hard in her chest it almost hurts, but the thrill of suddenly having the upper hand is too good to ignore. She smiles back at him.

“Of course.” She tilts her head at him, mimicking the innocent expression he’d given her only moments ago. “What’s not to like about it?”

“Nothing,” he’s quick to answer, “I had just thought the attention would make you uncomfortable.”

Nahri hums, fully aware of the fact that she’s caught him off guard, even if he hides it well. He seems to forget that she knows his mannerisms and tells just as well as he knows hers.

Her cheeks are still warm but there’s another warmth curling low in her stomach when she thinks about the very display he’s referring to. She’s already in this deep and having him under her thumb is a little intoxicating, so she throws caution to the wind in favor of seeing just how far she can take this.

“I can assure you, I’m fine with the ritual. If anything, it looks uncomfortable for  _ you _ .”

“For me?” He catches on to her game almost immediately, and Nahri thinks she might be disappointed if only he had any idea how to regain the advantage here. “I told you it was my pleasure and I meant it.”

He’s a very good player, though, because even though she’s certain she still has the upper hand, the way he lowers his voice to match the reverent tone he’d used at the temple makes her feel a little weak.

“If that’s so,” she says slowly, feeling short of breath with the anticipation of her next words, “then kneel.”

There’s a moment where he fails to hide his surprise, and it stretches into two, then three. She feels giddy and nervous at once as she watches him process her command. She can’t begin to guess how he’s going to react, and it’s too late to turn tail and run, so she presses forward.

“Did I stutter? I said  _ kneel _ , Afshin.”

Dara straightens on the last syllable, and she hears his breath shudder, but the grin he gives her is positively wicked.

“Banu Nahida,” he says, and falls to his knees, and it’s no different than any other time he’s said it during this process but somehow it feels more intimate this time. Goosebumps prick her arms and there’s something electric against her skin, as if his voice alone could wrap around her and caress her like a lover.

She inhales sharply at the thought, at the sight of him on the floor before her, not because of any ritual but because she had  _ told _ him to.

And he couldn’t rise until she told him to, either.

She swallows hard, her ceremonial clothes suddenly stifling. She hadn’t really thought this far ahead, of what she would do when he did, but the view of him alone is nearly enough to undo her.

Suddenly, it’s abundantly clear what she wants. The heat becomes unbearable just at the whisper of the idea, but she grasps onto it anyways. Her eyes flick to the door, just to make sure he’d closed it behind him, then to the prostrated man in front of her.

“Rise,” she says, a little breathless, “but only halfway.”

He complies, sitting up on his knees. There’s still a trace of that humor lingering on his face, but his eyes are dark, as if in her simple command he’d heard all of her desires. He might have, for all that she thought her own were mirrored in his expression.

She approaches him and he rocks back on his heels to look up at her. His eyes feel like a physical brand on her skin, burning her with their intensity.

She takes his face into her hands, leans down, and kisses him.

The little sound he makes in the back of his throat isn’t something she thinks she’ll ever tire of. She feels him shift and hesitate beneath her, and then he’s gripping her waist and pulling her into him.

She gasps against his lips and breaks away from him, just enough to see the longing written all over his face. Then she threads her fingers through his hair and kisses him again. The fingers on her waist are scalding, so much so that she’s half worried they’re going to burn right through the thin fabric of her gown.

His mouth is much too distracting to care about the state of her clothes for long though, especially when she tugs upwards lightly on his hair and he surges to his feet, his hands dropping to grip the backs of her thighs and lift her against him as he walks them back into the wall.

“Brute,” she murmurs into his mouth, even though he’s taken great care not to press her too hard into the brick, and she feels his laughter in his chest more than she hears it. The proximity of him is making her head swim, and when he starts trailing kisses along her jaw and down her throat, she tips her head back for him and tries to catch her breath.

He finds that spot at the base of her neck, the one that weakens her knees, and the sound she makes would be embarrassing if she had half a mind left to care. She’s been waiting for this all day, waiting for him since the moment she’d stepped out of that palanquin earlier that morning.

The heat pooling in her stomach coils lower, and she slips her fingers out of his hair to grip his shoulders, trying to draw him in closer even though there’s no space left between them.

He pins her body to the wall with his own, and she shudders, tightening her legs around his waist when his hands begin to wander up underneath the hem of her gown. He pushes it around her hips, until his knuckles graze her bare skin.

Nahri leaves him to his own explorations as she pulls apart the seams of his coat and pushes it off of his shoulders. His pulls back only to shrug it off, and then his hands are back on her, pressing into the small of her back and curling around her hip.

His lips follow the neckline of her gown, and she’s half convinced that she’s going to burst into flames, the weight and heat of him against her making her own blood boil.

She fists her fingers into his white shirt, wrenching it up and over his head. He’s breathing hard when he meets her eyes, now bare from the waist up. She takes only a moment to drink him in, before she’s pulling him back to her and kissing him again.

His hands fumble at her waist, gripping the hem of her gown and easing it up until they have to break apart again. Nahri leans back, taking the bundle of fabric out of his hands and pulling it the rest of the way over her head. She shakes her hair out and flings the beautiful but cumbersome piece onto the floor, her skin prickling when Dara’s breath hitches.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever tire of that, either — of his reaction to her, every time.

“Come here,” she whispers, and he does, her Afshin ever so quick to respond to her every request. She threads her fingers back in his hair, arching into his chest, savoring the feel of his bare skin against hers.

He dips his head again, resuming his scalding trail of kisses across her chest. Nahri tips her head back against the wall, staring with half-lidded eyes up at the domed ceiling of her room, tightening her fingers in his hair as he kisses lower, and lower, and  _ lower _ — until he has to ease her legs back to the ground so he can get to his knees before her again.

She looks back down at him as his lips touch the waistband of her pants, trying to maintain some control over her labored breathing when he begins pulling them down. 

She kicks them off once they’re around her ankles, and he runs his hands down the length of her legs and then back up, easing one thigh over his shoulder and pressing his lips reverently to the inside of it.

The part of her that delighted in his part of the Temple ritual comes rushing back to her when he locks eyes with her, and through the haze of pleasure and anticipation she tells him in a voice barely above a murmur, “you rise only when I tell you, Afshin.”

His eyes are molten enough to set her on fire.

“It would be my pleasure,” he says, in the same tone he’d used at the temple that first time, and the promise in his voice alone is enough to draw a breathy moan from her.

He trails kisses inward, until bare skin is replaced by the thin material of her undergarments. He doesn’t let that deter him, kissing her through them even as he works to undo the ties holding them up. Nahri’s nails dig into his scalp, before she realizes her mistake and loosens her grip in his hair.

The material loosens around her and he pulls them off of her slowly, relishing the sight of her completely bare before him. He swears when he drops them to the ground, pulling her into him, and the first touch of his tongue against her sends her reeling. The fingers curled around her thigh tighten, holding her in place, while the ones at her hip slide around her back and push in, arching her more for him.

“ _ Dara _ ,” she gasps, because he wastes no time with teasing. He is as eager for a taste of her as she is for him to taste her, and he groans against her. She swears under her breath, her entire body trembling at the sensation the sound causes.

He pulls her clit between his teeth, his tongue doing wondrously wicked things to her. She thinks that the way he grips her tighter and dives in deeper is awfully reminiscent of a man who’s been wandering the desert for days and finally stumbled upon an oasis.

It feels like worship, more potent and intoxicating than anything she’s experienced in all her visits to the Temple. It feels like blasphemy, that he should kneel and vow himself to her like this, as if she were his god.

She twists her fingers tighter into his hair, moaning as his tongue moves against her in a particularly delightful way. He has no right to be so skilled with his mouth, to be able to reduce her to this panting, shivering mess with just a few strokes, but he is and he does.

Her peak rushes up and consumes her before she’s even aware it’s close. She shudders, arching off the wall, her voice breaking over his name as stars burst before her eyes and fire rushes the blood in her veins.

But he has his orders, and her climax doesn’t stop him. If anything, it spurs him on, and she’s barely caught her breath from her first orgasm when she feels the second cresting.

She feels electric and molten at once, the pressure of his hands and mouth too much and not enough, and she can barely think past the things he’s doing to her — the wicked, sinful, wonderful,  _ heavenly _ things he’s doing to her.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt, even in her half coherent state, she knows that if she doesn’t stop him now he’s going to reduce her to nothing with his mouth alone. She forces some measure of strength into her voice, strength she doesn’t feel when his hands are all but holding her upright, and says, “enough.”

He stills, and draws back from her slowly. He helps ease her trembling thigh from his shoulder, then sits back on his heels. Nahri crooks a finger at him, and when he stands, she kisses him again.

She tastes herself on his lips, on his tongue, as she pushes him back towards the bed. He gathers her up in his arms, and she feels his arousal against her stomach. Her moan gets caught in her throat, and she pulls back when the backs of his knees hit the edge of her bed only to help him dispose of the rest of his own clothes.

She pushes him back once he’s just as bare as her, crawling over him, and this time he’s the one tangling his fingers in her hair and pulling her back to his lips. She indulges him for a moment, but then she’s breaking away, reaching between their bodies to guide him into her. Dara props himself up on an elbow, returning to her throat, feeling her pulse jump against his tongue.

Then she’s sliding on to him, and he groans, muttering expletives into her skin. Nahri takes a moment to catch her breath, to let him catch his, because neither of them are ever prepared for how good it feels to be a part of one another.

She twists her hips, and she feels the way his expression contorts where his face is buried in the crook of her neck, his fingers digging in where they’d dropped to grip her hip.

“Move with me,” she whispers, and he tenses underneath her, twitching inside of her, and then he thrusts up into her. She gasps, her nails cutting crescents into his skin, and meets the next one, until they’re moving together, all  _ hardsoftmusclescurves _ .

Every thought that’s not  _ Dara _ disappears, until he’s invaded all her senses and all she can  _ seefeelhearsmelltaste _ is  _ him _ .

He falters, and she drops her head to his shoulder, kissing whatever skin she can reach. She’s close, and she knows he is, too. She wants him to hit that high with her, so she rolls her hips in a way that’s a little detrimental to the both of them. The strangled sound he makes is the counterpart to the one that gets caught in her throat.

He drops her hip and reaches between them, rubbing hard circles around her clit. Her entire body tenses, and then she shatters above him, keening into his shoulder.

“ _ Nahri _ ,” he gasps, and he’s undone too, fragmenting into millions of pieces as fine as stardust. He collapses onto his back, and Nahri falls with him, resting her head on his chest as both of them struggle to regain their breath.

They lay like that for several minutes, entwined with one another as they come down from their highs. Dara combs his fingers through her hair, and she traces patterns along his arm, though of course the peace doesn’t last very long.

“If I had known you were such a fan of me bowing to you,” he finally says, and she dreads the humor that has returned to his voice, “I would have insisted on making it a part of many other proceedings, as well.”

She makes a face, and though he can’t see it, she’s sure he’s aware of the heat suddenly in her cheeks, can feel it where it’s pressed over his heart.

“Shut up, Dara,” she says, without any real bite, and he laughs again. A different kind of warmth spreads through her at the sound, and she curls more comfortably against him, content to stay like this as long as they were able.

She feels his lips against the top of her head, and sighs, closing her eyes.

“Your wish is my command,” he murmurs, and Nahri hides her smile in his chest.


End file.
